Sartorial struggles
by Gerti
Summary: Your missions: Protect the City. Look better than Warlocks. But don't look like you're trying.
1. Monitor

**Monitor Type 2**

_"The Cabal centurion opened up on her at point-blank, and we heard the most fearsome sound. She was laughing."_

* * *

><p>Many people believe that it is Warlocks they should fear. Or Hunters. Civilians great and small step lightly around those hooded figures, whose telltale cloaks and shining bonds hide secrets that could tear their City apart.<p>

They are not wrong. Any Hunter worth the title could spark a civil war with a single word in the right ear. Any Warlock with more than a month's experience knows just how to rend reality to his will. There are secrets in their minds that could bring the mightiest god to its knees.

So no, they are not wrong.

But here, now, watching through a scope as slug after slug screeches and shatters against her armor, each one powerful enough to upend a sparrow but not so much as fazing her. There is a crackle of air as her lightning clad fist does what bullets cannot, ripping through inches of the Cabal's finest armor like so much wet paper. The flesh underneath stands even less of a chance, and soon enough she's buried her arm up to the elbow in whatever strange alien biology lurks beneath that massive armor.

Here and now, hearing her brilliant laughter as she rips her hand free, seeing something wet and pulsing clenched tightly in her fist and three neat little holes she hasn't even noticed leaking blood across the front of her battered and dirtied armor…

The age old question goes 'What happens when an unstoppable force opposes an immovable object?', and it's supposed to make one think.

What you should really consider though, is what happens when they both work together?

There's a shiver down the Hunter's spine, and he packs up his rifle to set out across the field. Whatever the answer, she's going to need reviving soon, and if he doesn't lend a hand who knows what she'll end up doing to him.


	2. Ghost Angel

**Ghost Angel**

_"As we climbed the tern cliffs he moved their nests aside, real gently. At the top he strangled the Fallen sentry. Same hands."_

* * *

><p>The Hunter unsettles her.<p>

It isn't because he's a threat, not to her at least. Oh she has no doubt in her mind that he could kill her in any number of ways the moment her back is turned, it's what Hunters do best after all, the number of times he's taken a blade to their Warlock attests to his skill. But something simply being able to kill her has lost its thrill lately. The life of a Guardian takes some of the fun out of imminent danger, as does being effectively immortal.

And it isn't because she doesn't understand his tactics. She knows that the reason she can stand her ground and fight toe to toe with their foes is almost entirely to do with her (admittedly a bit excessive) armor. Since a Hunter can't reasonably wear the same amount and expect to maintain their maneuverability, they have to find other ways of not being shot to death. It's not difficult to figure out. And how many times has she turned around after a long fight only to find a pile of corpses laid out behind her, each one bearing a neat little bullet hole right between their eyes? Everyone had their part in a battle, and even if she derided such sneaky tactics in public, she and every other Titan was fully aware that they could not always win through sheer endurance alone.

It isn't even because of some sense of mystery. She's seen his face. Knows his opinions on everything from food to color to the political leanings of Dead Orbit. They've been trapped in caves and jungles, hiding from storms or enemy fire with nothing left to do but swap stories of their exploits and talk about life as a Guardian because neither of them can remember what life was like before they'd been 'gifted' with this second chance at it.

What unsettles her is the dichotomy of it all. She doesn't recognize it at first, it's not until they're on a mission, climbing up the tern cliffs in the most suicidal, insane route possible to get the drop on their enemies that it finally hits her.

The Warlock falls first, a loose rock and exhaustion doing what a hundred Vandals could not. He falls silently, and after the first flash of horror she calms herself, remembering that even a fall like that is easily recovered from with the Light of the Traveler. So she turns her gaze back upwards, ready to continue on with the mission and there it is. A single hand outstretched, not towards her, but where the Warlock had fallen past just moments ago. It's hard to tell through the mask and hood, but he almost looks… pained as he curls his fingers into a tight fist.

They press on, Hunter first, Titan second in a strange reversal of their usual roles. Foot by painstaking foot they climb, coming ever closer to the ledge where their enemy awaits. Suddenly, he stops, and she peers upwards to see what's made him pause when they're so close to the finish. It's a nest, she realizes as he slowly removes his gauntlets, tucking them into his belt so he can carefully, _carefully, _pick up the nest and move it aside without disturbing a single egg.

At the top of the cliff there stands a single Fallen, a Dreg it looks like, though from where she is it's hard to do more than count arms and make a wild guess. The Hunter goes first, clambering up when its back is turned and wrapping those same hands around its throat. It doesn't take long, he's a professional after all, it's barely a minute before the Dreg drops to the ground without a single sound, and she pulls herself up to the cliff before he can offer to help her.

It's all she can do, for a moment, to stare at her hands.

Maybe it's not the Hunter himself that unsettles her, but the truths he embodies.


	3. Cloaks

_Just kiss already._

* * *

><p>She's tried the cloak on before, not that she'd ever admit it to anyone. She was a Warlock and there were certain things that Warlocks simply Did Not Do. Wearing a Hunter's cloak would be paramount to admitting that Hunter's did, in fact, look kind of dashing in them and that would be a huge blow against her fellow seekers of Light in the ongoing sartorial struggle that everyone knew about but no one was willing to admit existed.<p>

Except the Titans of course, but they tended to be more amused by the whole mess than anything.

It had been late at night; the Hunter had hung her cloak on a branch to let it dry after the drizzle they'd had to endure all afternoon. It was still damp when she pulled it off its perch, making sure to wrap her bond tightly to keep the light from alerting the others to her activities.

The cloak settled awkwardly on her shoulders, the garment was a bit too large to look anything but silly on her. But simply wearing it, the hood pulled up and the fabric ensconcing her body in shadows and mystery…

She had to admit, she felt pretty cool. No wonder the Hunters practically swore by these things.

A smile was slowly working its way onto her lips as she twirled about, one hand on her hips and the other held out miming a pistol shot at some imaginary opponent.

A smile which died a horrible screaming death as she caught sight of the glowing red eyes in the foliage. It was hard to tell what an Exo was feeling just from looking at them, but their Titan seemed to be exuding a restrained amusement as it strode past her without a single word.

She didn't think her face could get any redder, and with calm, jerky motions she pulled the cloak off and threw it back onto the branch, sprinting off to take over the watch and hoping for nothing more than a Minotaur or a Devil Walker to show up and take her mind off things.


	4. Bad Juju

**Bad Juju**

_"If you believe your weapon wants to murder all of existence, then so it will." - Toland the Shattered_

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><p>His weapon was hungry.<p>

He didn't understand it at first, what he'd gotten his hands on. The thrill of finally achieving what he'd set out to accomplish had momentarily overshadowed the smell of blood that shrouded his every footstep from that point on.

It had been the work of many weeks, collecting the excerpts and musings of the exiled Warlock Toland page by page. Often he'd had to piece the words together one at a time, painstakingly recreating the journal of his quarry for the precious knowledge within. When he'd finally put the last page back in its place he'd been devastated, the book was filled with gibberish and mad scrawls, nothing more than the ravings of a madman. Or so it had seemed. Of course it would be Ikora Rey who managed to wring something useful out of it all.

Instructions, she'd said. Details that outlined a process to create some sort of weapon.

Had it been a Hunter, or a Titan who learned about this they would have burned the journals and scattered the ashes from the top of the Tower. But to a Warlock there was no greater temptation than a mystery that couldn't, _shouldn't, _be solved.

Perhaps Toland had known that.

He'd dismissed the thought, how could he have known it would be a Warlock that managed to find his journal?

And so he'd continued, carving his way through the crucible day in and day out in an effort to sate the dark weapon he carried on his back. Every victory had brought a rush of power, every kill causing the rifle to grow a little warmer. And the whispers a little louder

Warlocks tasted the best. All of that excess _power _overflowing from them, undirected and easy to siphon away into humming steel of his weapon. Twice he'd been reprimanded for turning on his own fireteam during matches, but by then it no longer mattered. He'd collected enough energy for his purposes, his pulse rifle was sated. The gunsmith gave him more than a few odd looks as he'd handled the weapon, but soon enough it was back in his hands.

Complete.

Perfect.

But still hungry.


	5. Highlander Type 0

"_One legend speaks of a Titan whose methodical, scrupulous patrol never met a foe. Was she still a hero?"_

* * *

><p>On the outskirts of the City Guardians were dying.<p>

It was no shocking revelation really, Guardians died every day. It was their duty, their _honor_, to fall in service to the Last city. And it was not just once, but time and again in an eternal and unending sacrifice. They built their immortal bodies into a wall that held back the darkness which would shatter the fragile peace they had scraped together from the ashes of their desecrated world.

Guardians die.

Or at least most of them do.

It was strange to find a Guardian that hadn't bloodied their hands at some point in this war, but a rare few of them had, through some twist of luck or fate, managed to avoid the battle which defined them.

She didn't feel so lucky. Ever since she had been resurrected she had made her rounds, the same path day in and day out with nothing more dangerous than wild animals to be seen. Every morning she quietly prayed that today would be the day she could finally test her mettle against the enemies of humanity.

Every evening she submitted her report, the same words every single time.

_[Route theta: No enemy contact.]_

And once, on a particularly exciting day:

_[Route theta: No enemy contact. Single obstruction found and removed.]_

The obstruction in question was a fallen tree that had been strewn across her route by a recent storm. At the time she'd been thrilled, thoughts of a potential ambush by enemy insurgents running through her mind as she worked to remove the obstacle. Her eyes darted suspiciously across the underbrush, adrenaline working itself into her veins as she cleared away the tree trunk blocking her path. The powerful servos in her armor made a short job of it, though it would have been shorter had she not had all of her attention preparing for an ambush of epic proportions.

But nothing came, and so she had to move on. Bitter disappointment or not there was a patrol to run, and she would see it through.

Years came and went, Guardians and Ghosts and Legends rose and fell as she trod that same path every single day. She shared notes with Toland the Shattered, and witnessed the fall of the mighty Thalor to Dredgen Yor and his Thorn.

She shared a meal with Wei Ning, and until the day she died she would remember the words they shared.

Titans more than any other Guardian were expected to bleed, to stand strong and resilient against the raging tides. Their legends would be transcribed across their armor by every bullet and bomb they strode through, undaunted and unstoppable.

But it would not be the legends of individuals that would stand the test of time. One by one each man and woman would be forgotten, until the only stories left to tell would say only Guardian. Each one a gear, a stone that built into a wall which would never fall, all of them working towards a common goal. And in that far-off day humanity will look back on them as a whole, and they will be free to roam the stars because of the sacrifice of each and every one of them, bloodied hands or not.

As the first, and last Guardian to die of old age, she could live with that.

* * *

><p>As requested by BrazeRancor<p> 


	6. Spearhead type 0

_PUJARI-WEI RATIO: colloquial. Amount of time Warlocks spend planning battles vs. time Titans spend winning them._

* * *

><p>I have been called many things; a saint, a scholar, a luminescent spark in these dark times around us.<p>

She called me 'Dork'.

At first I was understandably offended, I was author to books that would be read religiously for ages to come. I had witnessed the birth of stars and battled wits with the great Ahamkara of old.

I had walked through the the blood-red fields, blooming across the still-beating heart of a sleeping god.

I tried to convey this her, my face hot with anger beneath my robes. She laughed, punched me on the arm hard enough to leave it numb, and left me there.

I will not call her intelligent, I am no liar after all, but if ever there was a Guardian that could be called Enlightened it was Wei Ning.

We spoke often after that fateful day, she often showed up at my lectures, lounging at the back of the hall to watch with her feet propped up on the table. Occasionally she would bring a gaggle of other Titans and the occasional Hunter, but it was only on the days that she came alone that she would raise her voice.

The lectures _were _technically open to discussion, but it took the blunt dismissal of things like 'etiquette' and 'common decency' only a Titan could manage to actually go and interrupt a lecturer in the middle of their speech.

"So what's it matter where the bots are getting their lasers _from_? Seems more important to know where they're _going _if you ask me." Her now-familiar voice called out during a pause, and the moment I looked over she waggled her fingers at me as if she was simply greeting me on the street.

I sighed, my bandaged hand dropping from the holo-board I'd been carefully mapping out my latest equation on. "With this, and the data the Cryptarchs have gleaned from the numerous Vex weapons they have acquired over the years, I believe I can finally find a way to extrapolate the source of the energy the Vex use in their weapons. By doing so a number of hypotheses can be re-valuated and-"

"Yeah but what's the point of that?" My teeth clicked shut as he was interrupted, a well prepared and perfectly good response so rudely ruined. She kept talking, either unaware or uncaring of my growing ire. "I see a Vex out there I get real low, their first shot's always center of mass see, which makes sense I guess. Guardian heads aren't the easiest target even with a fancy computer brain."

"But!" She piped up again the moment I tried to get a word in, banging a hand on the table hard enough to startle me momentarily into silence. "That's off the topic. What I'm trying to say is, it doesn't matter where that whatever's coming from when it's flying right over my head while I tear off a few robot limbs to beat the thing to death with."

She leaned in, a fire in her eyes I'd only seen once before in the destructive blast of an orbital bombardment, and she raised her clenched fist. "Because in the end, no matter what sort of fancy tactics you've got, no matter how many words you've got rattling around in that big brain of yours, _this _is the last and surest argument."

And then she was gone, leaving a dented table and a crowd of stunned academics in her wake.

The next time we met she apologized.

I was suitably stunned of course, I had expected the stubborn denial of wrongdoing that was so common of Titans not a sudden and surprisingly sincere apology. A quick examination told me all I needed to know about her activities, her armor was scorched and dented, her hair matted with sweat and what looked like blood. But her Ghost was still intact, floating above her shoulder to give me an almost curious look before it blinked out of existence. I didn't stare too long at it, unlike some people I had a modicum of tact.

"You certainly gave us something to think about." I replied the only way I could in the face of this strange and unexpected tactic; by backpedaling into platitudes and lines I'd rehearsed hours in advance. "It's been a long time since someone reminded us academics that there is a war still raging outside our laboratories and classrooms."

She looked a bit too pleased with herself at that, so I continued the moment she opened her mouth. "However there are still better ways to do so than by barging into the middle of a lecture and ruining all of my hard work."

"Yeah… sorry about that." She didn't shrink away from the chastisement, accepting it with a chuckle and a suitably apologetic smile. It was a surprisingly mature gesture, not one he'd expected after hearing the rumors about the legendarily violent Wei Ning.

"It's just when you're out there," She gestured out a the sky, and a quick glance confirmed my suspicions that she hadn't actually pointed at any of the planets we had access to. I wisely refrained from commenting. "You don't think about that stuff you know? Only things on your mind are 'Can I punch this?' and 'Let's find out'."

"There are problems in our universe that you can't just punch your way through." I responded, and suddenly there was that glint in her eye. But I was ready for it this time, and though I knew there was no such purity of passion in my eyes I met her gaze regardless. "No, don't you tell me that's wrong. Don't you _dare _tell me that you think that strength of arms is all it will take to win this war. If that were the case we would have been overrun decades ago, but here we are. It is _tactics _that have kept humanity safe, it is advances in technology that allow you to stand toe to toe with the likes of the Cabal and fully expect to come out on top. It is our knowledge of our enemies that allows us to adapt to their presence on the battlefield and achieve victory in the long run."

I didn't realize how loud my voice had gotten until I heard the silence in it's aftermath, my breath coming in pants that showed just how much my composure had been compromised. I straightened myself, glancing around discreetly to make sure there was no one around to gawk. What an embarrassing situation to be caught in-

"Yeah… yeah I know. You're not wrong." She'd turned away from me at some point, leaning against the fence that ringed the plaza at the top of the Guardian tower. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, its rays washing over us and dispelling the darkness of the night. "You told me that sometimes you ah… _academics,_" It always baffled me how she could make that word sound just like nerds when she wanted to, "need a little reality check from time to time. But it's the same for us you know? When you're out there on the front it's all you think about, what the best move is in the here in now. What's going to keep you alive for the next five minutes, what's going to kill as many things as possible as quickly as possible so you can move on to the next batch. Rinse and repeat. You lose sight of the big picture."

She spat off the edge of the tower and turned to face me, studying me a bit more closely this time I think. "But it takes all kinds to win a war doesn't it? I can say I'll just punch the Darkness all I like, but that doesn't mean shit if we can't get to it first. And to do that we need big brains like yours back here figuring out all those little details I couldn't keep track of for the life of me. When the long dark comes, _we _will be the final light. The light of my fists and the light of your mind, we'll need every last bit of it."

She stood there, radiant in the rising light of the sun, and for a moment I saw it. I saw the light of her soul, clenched in readied fists and shining through the cracks in her armor.

What could I do? I offered her my hand.

I can only hope that one day I burn so brilliantly as that.

_From the journal of Pujari_


End file.
